


Howl - wee!chesters

by seraphim_grace



Category: DCU, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crack, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/seraphim_grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman adopts the wee!chesters<br/>twin with Howl= adult</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this story unless otherwise specified Dick is 14, Dean is 8 and Sam is 4

Dean looked at the tall man in the black suit who had had them brought here, his hand involuntarily scratching the patch over his left eye. The suits had arrived at the foster home and taken the two of them, him and Sam, with their paperwork and brand new suitcases for their things, and brought them here, to this city on the coast, and this tower with the strange tall man standing looking over the city with his back towards them.

Sam was a little more fickle, too young to really worry about how they were being moved around like a game of pass the parcel. He was sat at the huge table with a wooden car that one of the secretaries had taken off her desk and handed to him somewhat surreptitiously, but that didn’t bother Sam who was moving the black tank car thing over the table with loud vroom-vrooms.

“I am Lucius Fox,” the tall man said turning around, he was a black man with a shock of silver hair but a rather kind face. “I am primarily in charge of Wayne Industries which is where you are. I was thinking you might have questions, Mr Wayne is currently returning from Japan with his ward, and I understand that your father left instructions that Mr Wayne would be your primary carer following his,” he stopped, shy of the word. “Alfred will be here in a short while to collect you, but I didn’t want you to wait in the foster system when you could be here.”

“Don’t care.” Dean groused sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look adult and not eight years old with a mountain of gauze taped to his face, “look me and Sammy, we’re cool, you can let us go, we’ll be just fine.”

Fox smiled softly and then sat down on one of the big leather chairs at the table. “Yeah, Mr Wayne said you’d say that. He said that we were to look after you because you could look after Sammy just fine.”

Dean blinked, he was pretty sure he was being played because after all grown ups never believed him when he said it, but he’d been looking after Sammy all on his own forever, he’d even helped Dad on hunts. “You see Mr Wayne owes your Dad a really big favour, whilst he’s missing you can stay here.”

“He’s dead.” Dean ground out bluntly, then scratched at the pad again, it wasn’t like it itched or nuffin, it was just there and he couldn’t really help it, “you can say it, it’s not like it’s the first time someone’s died on us.” There was a hint of a snuffle in his voice, but dammit boys didn’t cry, so he sucked it up. Sammy was more interested in the small car he was playing with than the conversation that they were having. He had hopped out of his chair and was lying on the floor now, on his belly, still going “vroom! Vroom!”

“I wasn’t quite sure how much you had been told.”

“My dad tells me everyfin!” Dean yelled, wiping at his nose with his sleeve.

“Then my apologies, Mister Winchester, I made an assumption and I was wrong.” He laced his fingers together and looked even more approachable for a moment, like a chocolate teddy bear Dean thought and then realised this man was playing him and closed up again. “Well, I imagine you’re going to find Gotham to be an interesting place to stay.”

“Dun’t trouble yourself.” Dean said bluntly. “We’ll just be on our way, thanks for nothing, Mr Fox.”

To Dean’s surprise Mr Fox laughed, it was a warm hearty sound that again put Dean in mind of chocolate. “You know, Bruce was exactly the same at your age. Now, I can’t sit with you because I have meetings, but I’ll make sure Anne sits with you until Alfred gets here. Is there anything you want?”

“Yeah,” Dean snarked. “I want a big mac meal and a chocolate milk shake and Sammy’ll have a kid’s meal with banana and some pie, with cream.”

Fox reached across the desk and pushed a button, talking to the woman outside and repeated the orders. He also added about getting some of the game systems out of R&D to keep them occupied whilst they waited for Mr Pennyworth. Then he looked at the boys. “Anything else?” He looked a bit impish. But Dean was, for once, speechless.

 

Alfred Pennyworth was completely at ease at the small child that was riding his shoulders, however coaxing the other out of the car was going to be a larger challenge. He had wedged himself into the back of the limousine and wasn’t moving. “As you wish, master Dean,” Alfred said finally, “shall I bring you supper and a blanket?” Putting one hand on the child’s leg although he was pretty sure he was too old for this type of behaviour, he reached into the car and found the remote control for the television. “Of course, you can come in as soon as you’re ready.”

Dean just snatched the remote control and turned on the TV, he wasn’t going to make this any easier than he absolutely had to.

 

Dean woke up as Dad lifted him into his arms, blanket and all, he could feel the bristle of his beard against his cheek and it was home, even if he didn’t smell quite right, there was gunpowder but also rubber and cologne but Dean didn’t care, Dad was home and he missed him, he missed him so much that he just snuggled in closer. He whined a little in his sleep as he was laid out on the bed next to Sammy because he didn’t want to let go just yet, “go to sleep, kiddo,” the voice said and Dean knew it was Dad, it was, it had to be, and so he could sleep.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred whispered from the doorway to the man who was slipping off Dean’s trainers. “I take it the beard is not staying, I just like to know about potential house guests before they arrive.”

“Three days, Alfred,” Bruce replied calmly, “I haven’t shaved in three days, that flight was horrendous. I’m glad that they made it here safely, I came from the Watchtower as soon as I could.”

“They are good boys,” Alfred said quietly, looking at the two of them, curled up on the mattress, “of course we can’t always put them to bed in Dick’s room.”

“No,” Bruce agreed, “he’s flying in tomorrow from San Francisco to meet them. The Twins’ rooms maybe,” they were two sets of rooms which adjoined, “but Alfred, don’t let him sleep in the car again. I think I might put my back out if I have to fetch him out again.”

“Certainly not, Master Bruce.” Alfred said with a small smile.

 

When Dean woke up it wasn’t in the motel room he was expecting. For pretty much as long as he could remember he had moved from car to motel room to car, so that the decorations weren’t the same didn’t really bother him, but this was clearly no motel. First off there was a huge double bed with four posts and curtains and stuff. Sammy was still dead to the world, lying on his back in his usual swastika position which Dean was sure was just so that he could cover as much of the mattress as possible. But the blankets were soft and the sheets were flannel, you never got nice sheets in a motel, you got what they had and you were grateful, and there was really nice drapes and things. This clearly wasn’t a motel which made him panic because it clearly wasn’t the foster home either, and the last thing he remembered was watching Letterman in the car, who had a TV in their car for chrissakes, so he must have fallen asleep.

“Good morning, Master Dean, Master Samuel.” The old man jerked back the curtains and the room flooded with light. “I trust you slept well, now I have some breakfast for you downstairs. Master Bruce arrived late last night and I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.” From the side of the cabinet he lifted their suitcases, putting them on the couch – there was a couch in the room – and opened them, taking out clean clothes and leaving them out for them. “If there is anything you need, young sirs, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Dean,” Sammy whined, “this house is like that house in that movie, the one with the paintings and the ghosts, but when I asked Alfred he said that there was salt down and iron and other things so we didn’t have to worry, but I don’t like it, I don’t wanna be here. I want Dad.”

Dean sighed, “yeah, Sammy,” he ruffled his brother’s hair, knowing how much Sammy hated it, “I want Dad too, but Dad’s not here, and the lawyers say we gotta stay here until Pastor Jim comes for us, okay, it shouldn’t be long.”

“Kay, Dean,” Sammy said and slid off the bed, “I gotta go pee, Mister-Alfred said that we could use this house like it was our own, although we’re going to get other rooms, he said that this house was old, way older than even Pastor Jim or him, and Mister-Alfred is really old, and I gotta pee.” He walked into the other room, a bathroom Dean hadn’t even considered yet. “And he said Mister-Wayne was rich but all the things around the house are fakes because they were valuable so he gave them to a mew-see-um so that they woudn’t get broken so it doesn’t matter if things get broken, he said that because I knocked over a pot and it broke, but Mister-Alfred said it was okay because it wasn’t a real old pot, just a copy, and so it didn’t really matter. Then he gave me ice cream because I thought he was gonna be angry and,” he put his head around the door, “I can’t find my toothbrush, I gotta brush my teeth. Dad said I’d grow up and look like a wen-dee-go if I didn’t brush my teeth.”

"It'll be okay, Sammy, I'm sure we can find you a new toothbrush." Dean found it easier to scratch at the bandage, and placate his brother than to deal with what was going on. His eye itched, dammit, and he was tired, even though he had slept, as if he had just got out of a swimming pool.

The house, just like Sam had said, was huge. in fact Dean thought the word might actually be mansion not house, Alfred was at the bottom of the stairs to guide them into the kitchen, they'd used the main ones at the front not knowing there was a set at the rear of the house. There was pancakes laid out on the table, with all sorts of bottles of syrup, bottles of juice, two bowls of oatmeal, and a large jug of milk. Bruce Wayne, sat at the table, reading his paper, occasionally a cup of coffee vanished into the recess, and then replaced itself upon saucer. "I'm glad," he started, "you decided to wait for your shower, Dean, it gives us the chance to tape up the bandage."

"I can't find my toothbrush." Sammy began climbing up into the chair, Alfred lifted a glass and filled it with milk for him. Sammy took the glass gratefully, almost draining it with a single gulp. It left a white milk moustache, as Alfred filled the glass again.

"I'm sure we have a few somewhere," Bruce informed them, "from my work I travel a lot and I'm always losing them. I'm pretty sure Alfred buys them in bulk." He turned to Dean, standing there in yesterday's clothes, clearly uncomfortable. I'm not sure what to do. "Why don't sit down and we can have breakfast like a family?"

Dean erupted. "You're not my dad!" He shouted. "I don't want you to be my dad! I want my dad! I want to go home! I don't want this! I just want ..."

"Master Dean," Alfred said at the same time as Bruce said Dean, even Sammy said it. The tantrum wasn't finished, however, it had barely reached full steam. Alfred stopped it, not by saying anything, because there was nothing to be said, by pressing a towel to his face -- just under his eye, which was bandaged. It was the first hint that Dean had something was wrong. There was a dark black mess on the white towel, something thick like phlegm and it was pouring out of his eye.

All Bruce knew about Dean's eye injury was that he had got it when his father was killed. having met the boy and see how stubborn he was he had no doubt that the boy had leapt in to defend his father. he had been told about the injury when he learned of John Winchester's death and had arranged for Dean to see some of the best ophthalmic surgeons in the world. however, the the black stuff in the towel made things complicated. He had seen it before, once or twice when he was working at the Justice league,it was demonic ichor. Also, judging by the towel it was corrosive, but strangely it didn't leave a mark on the boy's face.

\---

The journey to the hospital was troublesome, involving wrangling a four-year-old into his clothes, trying to get an eight year old to sit still whilst pouring water into his eye to wash out the worst of it, and negotiating early morning rush-hour traffic. Bruce was first thought was to leave Sam with Alfred, however, Dean was having none of it. A tantrum that started over breakfast, had blossomed into a full rage and refused to go anywhere without his brother -- even the emergency room.

It gave him the continuing impression that life with the Winchester boys would be something but it would never be dull.


	2. Ace the Bathound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And lo - a hellhound shall be released from hell that it might find the antichrist child and start him on his way to what he must become

ace the bat hound

Gotham was cold and dark, a slow dripping rain meant that the petty criminals were taking their chances, knowing the GCPD wouldn't look up in this weather. Batman knew it was easy enough to hide under the brim of your hat when the weather was foul.

In some ways the criminals seemed almost eager to get out of the rain, especially the low level goons of the Marconi mob, out to prove themselves. It was a terrible time of year for crime fighting on the east coast. The kevlar weave which was so cool in summer was just cold and wet in winter, and the cape wasn't helping.

He had decided there was just one more thing to do before calling it an early night. Since he had taken in the Winchesters it suddenly seemed there just weren't enough hours in the day, or night, even if Alfred and Dick did most of the work there.

He landed silently on the roof of the Majestic theatre and then using his cape as a glider dropped down into crime alley.

This place was both reminder and curse to him, this was where he had seen his parents die and yet he couldn't stay away from it. He touched the concrete and took a deep breath to centre himself. There had been times when he had even spoken to the ghosts he saw in the shadows amongst the debris.

As he turned he heard the scratching. He assumed it was just some vagrant, or perhaps a hood looking to get lucky and sneak up on the Batman. "I know you're there." He growled. "Come out where I can see you."

The cardboard boxes beside the bin rustled, then with one fore leg raised a dog loped out and then sat down before him. It's gaze was cold, assessing, but it was very clearly badly wounded. The dog, a pure blood Doberman, had been used for fighting. Its ears had been shredded and there were clear teeth mark scars, some still oozing, all over it's neck. He raised his chin and the dog growled for a moment, and then when it went to lunge yelped with pain. It tilted it's head when Batman didn't move, then, lowered it's head as if in acknowledgement.

"Easy boy," he said, "let's get you out of the rain." He activated the tracker for the Batmobile even as reached down and hefted the dog in his arms.

 

\---

Alfred waited for him at the batcave with his usual alacrity, even as he hefted out the dog and laid him on the table. The dog had remained stoic even as Alfred rolled his eyes. "I suppose I shall call a vet, Master Bruce." He said, even as he picked up a piece of Bruce's own supper for the animal, who refused to take it from his hand.

"It appears mostly superficial." He answered. "The dog was fought. I'll need to get trace analysis to find out where and who did this. I am sure that it is nothing a some antiseptic and antibiotics won't cure."

"Oh yes, Master Bruce," Alfred drawled sarcastically. "I'll get right on it. Perhaps I can borrow your gloves."

"Be nice, Alfred," Bruce chided pulling off the cowl and becoming the billionaire again, his voice raising an octave as he spoke. "He's a material witness in a crime."

"I have noticed," Alfred said even as he started opening jars of antiseptic ointment and rooting around in the bandages, "your new penchant for adopting strays."

"He's evidence." Bruce repeated.

The dog accepted the piece of buttered ham, liberated from the sandwich on the console, from Bruce gently, causing him to wrap a small painkiller, just aspirin, in the next piece for the dog to wolf down. "I shall attend to the technicalities, shall I, sir? a licence, microchipping, food."

"We're not keeping him, Alfred." Bruce stated pulling off his gloves finally.

"Certainly not, sir. I shall take care of this matter, I'm sure you're correct that it is almost entirely superficial."

"We're not keeping him." Bruce repeated, "he's evidence."

"As you say, Master Bruce."  
\---

Bruce was woken late morning by screaming outside his window. The wet night had matured into a overcast winter's day and outside the manor he could hear a high pitched squealing.

He grabbed his robe, slammed his feet into his slippers and was down and outside as fast as he could.

Sam Winchester was playing with the dog, who was chasing him. The four year old was running as fast as his little legs could carry him squealing in delight as the two older boys, Dick and Dean, performed the chores that Alfred required of them on days that they were not at school.

Alfred had clearly taken the dog to a vet despite his instructions because it's injuries were expertly bound - including his hot pink plaster cast - and it was wearing a plastic cone about it's head. None of this slowed it down.

Whenever it caught the child, bundled up in a thick anorak and wooly hat, it would lick whatever flesh was exposed causing Sam to squeal even more. "Thank you," Dean said from behind him leaning on his rake. Dean didn't talk much and when he did it was usually accusative, and then went back to raking the garden leaves.

"Wow, Bruce," Dick said sidling up to him, "you didn't get me a dog."

"We're not keeping him." Bruce said a little futilely because the dog now had Sam pinned and was licking his face mercilessly and Sam was howling with laughter, looking for all the world like he was going to die of glee.

"Really?" Dick asked, "doesn't look like it."

"I found him, he was used in fighting, I didn't want him near you in case..."

"He licked us to death." Sam was actually contorting with laughter and Dean dropped his rake to go to his brother's rescue. The dog seemed to see this not as a rescue attempt but rather more play and started to bounce like a puppy before licking Dean's face. Sam laughed even harder if that was possible, lying in a mountain of leaves in the cool winter mid morning.

"I'll tell Alfred to take care of it," Bruce shook his head, "I'm going back to bed." He should have known, it wasn't like he had any say in his own house any more anyway.


	3. A picture is worth a thousand words - or Alfred hasn't cleaned the pantry in years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick finds some old photographs.

Dick Grayson was clearly part monkey, Alfred thought, wondering if a thorough scolding would suffice or he should get the broom to dislodge the boy currently climbing the back of the Butler's pantry, not for alcohol - Alfred wasn't nearly stupid enough to leave that where the boys could find it - but instead for the cinnamon waffles that Dick knew Alfred had bought and hidden. Alfred, not being stupid, had put them with the liquor, and the cookies, and the British sweets which they would have devoured whole without leaving him a single creme egg.

"Master Richard!" Alfred made sure to use his most commanding tone. Dick had one foot on the shelf with the preserves, mostly beetroot and pickles with sauces, one wedged in with the china - not the good china thank the stars that was kept locked away because boys would be boys. One hand was flat against the wall whilst the other was negotiating with the top shelf.

Dean and Sam were pretending they knew nothing of this assault and were drawing at the kitchen table and talking loudly. Sam had only just finished a picture of a tall black man with pointed ears. Bruce had asked if it was Batman to be told no, it was Mr Fox because Alfred had read him a book about Mr Fox and Mr Fox had lived with some mean farmers and had stolen their food for a party because they were mean and there was tunnels and caves and chickens and Bruce got that glazed look as Sam continued that the picture was for Mr Fox because Mr Fox was fantastic and had been very kind to them and Dean had said you always had to say thank you to people who were nice and so the picture was to say thank you, and he had given him fox ears because he was just that fantastic. Apparently the three blobs in the corner were the three mean farmers he had defeated, and Dean had helped him with the spellings because writing was hard. Bruce had just gone away with a somewhat poleaxed expression and then several hours later had wondered why Sam hadn't drawn him.

But Dick, having turned to Alfred's scolding, lost his balance. He tried to grab with both hands to stop himself falling, or at least bringing the china down with him, but only succeeding in wrenching the top shelf from the plaster at one of the brackets and swinging dangerously back and forth as glass jars, tins of condensed milk and other things that had been there at least since Bruce was a baby, shattered on the floor. "Oh, hey Alfred."

Dean worried by the crash popped his head around the door to make sure no one was hurt. The boy was taciturn and angry but he had a kind heart and he'd actually cried when Bruce came home with a strained wrist - he had actually done it tripping over a bag in Wayne Tower not crime fighting and had a matching bruise on his forehead where he had gotten tangled in a phone line so it banged him on the head-- something Alfrd would have paid good money to see -- and not let him tend it.

There was an old photo lying on the floor amidst the mess. "Master Richard! Master Dean!" Alfred said snatching the broom from it's place by the door. "Quick before you hurt yourselves. Out, out!" Dick jumped down, holding a jar or baby food of all things, and then ran his hand through his hair before making a quick exit.

\---

When Bruce saw the photo he sighed and then questioned where they had found it - Alfred narrowed his eyes and looked at Dick, Dean and Sam and then made a sort of huffing noise. "The boys were helping me clean the pantry." He said making sure Dick knew that he would be cleaning out the pantry ALOT from now on. "Dick found it with some of your old baby food, I believe."

Bruce went to make a comment about how Alfred kept everything but judging by the expression on his butler's face thought better of it at the last moment.

The photo showed what would become the Justice League when they were all embarrassingly young and niave. Bruce felt he looked like Dick in that photo, and there was Diana still managing to look regal although she hadn't been convinced that photography wouldn't banish her into another dimension. Clark almost managing to pretend he wasn't listening out for someone to call for help and rescue _him_. Ollie was leering over Diana's shoulder and into her cleavage without even bother to hide the fact and Hal was chewing him out for it. And there she was, Howl. She stood with her father, her costume was solid black but her hair was in loose Farrah Fawcett wings about her face. She wore that ridiculous charm bracelet that Bruce had bought her - she hadn't sent it back then.

Bruce had loved her with what he thought was his whole being because he was only a little older than her and she seemed so worldly and wise and hard in all the ways that mattered.

Her father, the Hunter, had been brusque, cold, but she had stood in the hothouse of the wayne manor, lovely amongst the lilies and been his first love, and ultimately no more interested in him as Bruce as she was with Batman. "You dress like a bat and beat people up, Bruce," she'd laughed, "at least know why, Gotham is haunted by bats. Why Hunter says that there all manner of legends, of demon bats and people who dress up like them. It's why we're here, so tell me, Batman - does the bat talk to you."

The picture was taken perhaps a week before her father was murdered and she vanished.

"Dean, Sam," he said turning the photo, "Remember I told you about how your father saved my life, before you were born." Dean nods but he's wary, the boy it seems will never truly trust him. "did I ever tell you about how I knew your mother?"


	4. Too Little

Dean looked at his brother and frowned before Dick bent him double on the mat, "it's not that we don't want you to play with us, Sammy," he said spreading his hands into lunge pose, "it's just that you're too little."

"He's right, Sam," Dick said maintaining a perfect hunter pose before he pulled Dean into the same. If asked Dean wasn't doing yoga but an Indian martial art designed to increase flexibility with a long complicated name involving ayurveda. Dean had outright refused to do yoga, but martial arts he was keen to learn. "Some of this could damage your joints and ligaments because you don't know when to quit." He twisted, "but we'll play later, kay?"

"But I wanna play now," Sam protested. "I wanna play too. I can stretch look." He pushed his arms up as far as he could.

"Not today, Sammy," Dean said as Dick adjusted his pose into Adha Mukha Svanasana with hands on his shoulders before Dick easily slipped into Half Moon pose himself. "Go back into the mansion, go play with Ace."

Sam's lip quivered and he ran into the mansion but Dean didn't see him go.

 

Sam was bawling with tears when he went into the kitchen where Alfred was mending socks. It was his favourite zen activity and often he was known to create holes in them himself just to mend them. "Master Sam, what's wrong?" he said putting down his mending.

"Won't play with me." The child sobbed. "They say I'm too little."

Alfred took a deep breath. "Well then," he said quietly, "you shall have to just play with me then." He got up to the counter and lifted down the cookie jar, thumbing in the combination - you can't have too many precautions with three boys in the house, master Bruce - and taking one out and handing it to the boy. "I know just the game."

 

When Bruce came home from his meeting at WE he was surprised by a small child with a pair of underpants on his head, and another on the outside of his jeans, there was a towel tied around his shoulders and what appeared to be his brother's boots waving a banana at him. "I'm the Night." The child said before turning around, "and I'm gonna get you, Baker!"

Bruce just hung up his over coat on the hook by the kitchen door and went to the refridgerator to fetch himself a tin of zesti, which he popped open.

"Ah, Batman." Alfred drawled from the hallway, "you shall never catch me before I turn Gotham Docks to custard as part of my evil plan, for I am The Baker."

Bruce, sitting down with his soda, opened the paper sure at some point this would be explained to him, and that it had, when it started, all made perfect sense.

He was sure of one thing though - at least this time they weren't dressing up as superman.


	5. Dean's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce removes the bandage on Dean's eye in the hospital

Dean had not wanted to go to the emergency room when his eye started leaking ichor. He had fussed and fought until the doctor sighed, not being able to get near his eye after introducing himself as an occulist, and just sent them to an upstairs room quite sure that the child would give up on his tantrum. It was clear that the eye wasn't hurting him so the doctor was happy to give him time to cool off.

Sam was happy with his crayons and some paper on the floor of the private room as the nurse came back in. "Hello, Mr Winchester," she said brightly, she was blonde and wore a really ugly nurse's uniform and red cardigan. "I'm Lisa, I'm going to be your nurse." She ignored Bruce and Alfred and spoke directly to Dean who thought this was suspicious, Bruce could tell that just from looking at him. "Now I have to take off the bandages so that Doctor Thompkins can have a look." she laughed to herself, "you scared Doctor Patel off, even though he's our special eye doctor."

Dean muttered something but the only words that Bruce could make out were black magic, not trust and go to Hell.

Lisa didn't even flinch. "Now, lets just get all that gauze off so you don't look like a mummy." She started to unwind the bandage holding the gauze on, "and then we'll get to see how handsome you are, okay, champ." As the bandage came away, "now keep your eye closed there, handsome, and I'm going to put some drops in, to try and wash out some of the nasty, okay." Dean nodded and let her tilt his face up. Bruce had tried this in the car and recieved the back of Dean's head in his own eye for the bother. "Now, open."

Lisa dropped the eyedrops with a clatter, stepping back she knocked the surgical tray that had been laid out to the floor and all that sugary persona vanished with an exclaimed "fuck!" Alfred immediately picked up Sam and carried him out of the room.

Dean's eye was black, even apart from the bruising, what would normally be the white of his eye was solid chrome black, the iris was red and gold and the pupil was slit. There was some scratching on the lid and some truly tremendous bruising that had gone yellow but the eye was... "Dean," Bruce said as Lisa ran out of the room to fetch Leslie to see what they could do. "Does your eye hurt?"

"Sort of," Dean said quietly, "it kinda aches, like when I haven't slept enough and I'm really tired."

"Do you want to tell me what happened to your eye?" His tone was even. He had been in Japan when John Winchester had died. All he knew was that Dean had come to him with the injury to his eye. He didn't know the particulars of the case because Lucius Fox had dealt with all of that.

"No." Dean answered and flopped back on the pillows.

"Did you hurt your eye when your Dad died?"

"Not gonna say." Dean answered and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Alright," Bruce acknowledged for now, after all there were far more ways of getting information than just asking outright.

\---

The police report was a bust. It had just explained how John Winchester and his boys had been attacked by a bear in a rural town in Montana. Apparently he had locked the two of them in the car and tried to distract the animal but had been killed in the attempt. Considering what Batman knew about the kind of things that John Winchester hunted, the same things Mary Winchester had hunted too, he was pretty certain it wasn't a bear.

He used his Justice League communicator to leave a message with Doctor Fate who might be able to look at the boy's eye. Doctor Fate was the Justice Society's prime magic user after all and something about this suggested it was more his work than Zatanna's.

He still needed more information however so he suited up and visited the hospital where Leslie had asked that Dean stay overnight that they might run some tests.

Batman appeared in the shadows of the hospital room, "Hello, Dean," he said in his trademark growl, stepping forward.

A splash of water, followed by a wooden rosary hit him as the child said very clearly in rather good latin "vada satana, Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,"

"I'm not a demon!" Batman protested moving to the open window. He was answered with a pillow to his face and saw that the boy was clutching his dinner knife. "I'm going, I'm going." He agreed and launched himself out of the window with his grapple. This was not going to be easy.

"Clarke," he said loudly, "I'm going to need an intervention."


	6. You can't escape (Dr) Fate

Dean, lying in the hospital bed, with Sammy lying on the floor colouring, Bruce sat on the recliner reading the paper, couldn't quite stop the laugh that erupted when, with a glowing pink ankh, the superhero teleported into his room. "Dude," he asked through the guffaws, "how do you bend?"

The superhero in question was the rather aloof founding member of the Justice Society, Dr Fate, and Bruce was pretty sure that in his long magic enhanced life no one had either laughed at him before, or asked him that question, although they had all thought it at some point or another.

Dr Fate wore a gold helmet and a pair of solid gold briefs that extended all the way up to his rib cage. These matched his solid gold boots.

"Magic." The sorceror intoned solemnly.

Sam looked up from his colouring, declared "you're not superman" and went back to his artwork. Bruce deliberately stifled a snigger, even as Sam muttered about how Dean had gotten to see Superman, and Dean got to see Dr Fate, and all Sam got was a new box of crayons. Dr Fate appraised the young child carefully, muttering an ah, then turned to his brother. "You are Dean Winchester, son of Mary and John Winchester, correct?"

"Duh!" Dean snarked. He was unimpressed by the immortal paragon of magic that had appeared before him. But to be fair he hadn't been impressed by Batman or Superman either.

Superman had offered to take him flying in exchange for telling him about his eye and what had happened. Dean had told him that he'd drop him. Superman insisted he wouldn't, he'd done this before, and he'd even melt something with his laser eyes, because Dean had already said that this was cool, after freezing the water in his drinking glass with his breath to prove that he actually was Superman.

"In order to salvage your eye," Dr Fate intoned, it was quite remarkable the sermonising tone that he used for everything, be it asking where the bathroom was or pronouncing the end of the world. "We must know what happened, otherwise you will be left with a hole in your face and wearing an eye patch for the rest of your life."

"Uh uh," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest, "the doctor, the real doctor, the one that went to school, not like you, he said I could have a glass eye."

Dr Fate didn't take a deep breath, at least obviously. He just sort of levitated an inch higher to loom a bit more effectively over the child. "I am told that you attacked that doctor, that you threw a bed pan at him."

"Yeah," Dean said defensively, "he said he did black magic."

"He confused Oculist with occultist," Bruce supplied.

"Same difference," Dean answered, but the brief distraction allowed Dr Fate to place his finger, in his solid gold glove, to Dean's forehead, through the bandage. Dean struggled and wriggled, burrowing into the pillow and said "get out of my head."

"Mr Wayne, would you be able to acquire some holy water? I see what can be done now." That piqued Dean's interest, and he asked why.

"When you tried to defend your father the demon's talon caught your retina, this would have been painful but will eventually heal, the problem is that when your father killed the demon then it's blood splashed into the wound. It may be too late to remove the infection entirely, but I am certain we can contain it within the eye itself."

"Will it hurt?" Sammy asked from the floor, then got up and climbed unto Bruce's lap, wrapping his arms about him. Just because Dean didn't trust Bruce didn't mean Sammy didn't. Sammy liked being carried around on his shoulders and there had been new crayons, a whole box of 64 colours and as many colouring books as he wanted.

"Yes, Samuel," Dr Fate said, "it will hurt quite a lot. Perhaps, Mr Wayne, you and Samuel would be better waiting outside for the procedure."

Bruce nodded. "I'll get you the holy water."


	7. The Great Pie War

When Dean had been told that they were having pie for dinner that morning, on the way to school, he had been naturally excited. Dean loved pie. No that was an understatement, Dean LOVED pie. He wasn't sure what he or Sam had done to earn pie for dinner, because Alfred was usually all about making him eat his vegetables but he wasn't going to look a gift pie in the mouth.

So when he got home, he ran up the stairs to change into jeans and a tee, still pulling his sweater over his head as he bumbled down the back stairs into the kitchen. Just as Alfred was pulling the pie out of the oven. Sam was already sat there holding his knife and fork and prepared for dinner. Dick was reading, and had only gotten rid of his blazer and tie. Dean clattered into his chair feeling like it was christmas, because after all it was PIE for DINNER.

What Alfred placed in front of them was not pie.

It didn't look like pie.

It was fish in some sort of white sauce with green bits topped with mashed potatoes and cheese, and there was green beans and corn to the side. Dick shovelled a mouthful in with the book still in one hand, and then still holding the fork waved his hand about in front of his mouth going "hot!" because he'd burned his tongue.

"What is this?" Dean asked.

"Fish Pie." Alfred answered calmly.

"S'good," Dick said around a full mouthful, still sucking in cold air as he chewed.

"No," Dean said, "that's not pie, pie has pastry and fruit or chocolate." Alfred blinked at him. "It's a pie when it's got a pastry bottom and fruit on top."

"Master Dean," Alfred said calmly as he trollied over three glasses of milk. "That is a fruit tart," he corrected him.

"And sometimes pie has bacon and cheese and egg on pastry."

"That's a quiche." Alfred was very calm.

"Pie doesn't have fish in it, and it doesn't have potato."

"Actually," Dick said, "there are lots of types of pie that have no pastry, there's shepherds pie, or lasagna, or moussaka, this is like shepherd's pie instead of lamb though there's fish, good fish." He nodded to Alfred. "It's to do with what they had when they invented them back in the dark ages or something, but it is pie, Dean, honest."

Dean still didn't trust him and it was clear he refused to eat when Bruce came in with an "ooh pie," as he sat himself down to eat. "What's for dessert, Alfred?"

"Egg custard tarts." He answered. Dean got the impression he wasn't going to win this one, he'd eat it but it wasn't ever going to be pie.


	8. Dean's birthday dinner

Dean didn't want to go to the posh hotel for his birthday dinner, he wanted to go to Big Belly Burger but Bruce said it was one of those things that they had to do because people expected it. He admitted he didn't want to go either but they would make him anything he wanted.

There were photographers but Bruce pushed them through and to a large table where he could sit with the three boys. Sam didn't care, Dick looked consternated and Dean was on the verge of a full blown tantrum. The waiter came over and Sam insisted on eating mussels because he liked the sound of the word, Bruce had a steak and Dick had some sort of foreign sounding dish so Dean crossed his arms and asked for a bacon double cheese burger. The waiter didn't even blink.

Sam was chanting "mussels, mussels, mussels," even after Dick leaned in and said "you do know that they're fish and you don't like fish." Bruce had made sure to order them for his starter just in case he didn't like them. Dean might be picky with his food, but Sam didn't care.

"That man's got no hair." Sam said in a loud whisper, certainly loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear and the place went silent. To be fair the man did have no hair, he was, in Dean's expert opinion, as bald as an egg. The man turned, as the woman next to him whispered something in his ear.

"Bruce, old man," the man said as he came over to the table. "I was surprised to see you out and about on the town, since news of your new fatherhood reached me in Metropolis."

"Hello, Lex," Bruce answered in that tone that was one step shy of the batman's I'm going to beat on you now until you cry uncle and then start in for real. "It's not often you leave your ivory tower."

This was going to be one of those conversations, Dean thought brightly, where everyone was polite but everything was an insult. Not on his birthday, he wasn't going to have it. "I told you we should have gone to Big Belly Burger," he said to Dean.

The bald man laughed. "Interesting," he said to himself, "of course, Bruce, you know Selina." He introduced the woman beside him, she was pretty enough Dean thought, though her hair was too short and her eyes were kind of hard. Bruce nodded acknowledgement. "And I know young Richard, but I find myself at a loss."

"It is Dean's birthday." Bruce said calmly, "so we have gone out to dinner."

Lex turned to Sam, "so how old are you?"

"I'm four!" Sam said brightly, "and I'm having mussels but it's Dean's birthday," he looked at his brother, "and he got a new bike and some clothes, he doesn't like it when he gets clothes but he needs them, and some games and we got a new leash for Ace, that's our dog, and we went to the zoo, I didn't know Gotham had a zoo, and." He just carried on in this vein and Selina leant in to continue the conversation about lions and tigers and bears.

"So, Dean," Lex asked him. There was something not quite right about Lex, like he was a demon or something, "are you enjoying your birthday?"

"Yes, Mr Luthor," because it was perfectly clear who this man was, even as Bruce waved over the waiter to add two chairs to the table because it was clear they weren't going to leave any time soon. "I got a new book, the Count of Monte Christo." Bruce snickered as he said it, because Dean was testing this man to see if he was a demon.

"How come you've got no hair, Mr Lex?" Sam asked brightly. The restaurant went quiet again Obviously these were questions you didn't ask.

"Oh when I was about your age I was caught in a meteor shower." Lex answered calmly, "it all fell out."

"Okay," Sam said and went back to talking to Selina about cats.

This birthday dinner, Dean thought, was not going to be fun.


	9. Gardening with Ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean plants a rose in memory of his parents

The grave wasn't the actual grave where his parents were buried, that was in Kansas, and it was really old but it was for a couple called John and Mary and Alfred assured him that they would know because it was close enough, and it wasn't like Bruce didn't take care of that. So Dean had a shovel and a rose bush and assurances it really was the best time to plant roses. He opened the bag of compost that Alfred had given him, all kitchen waste because although Bruce was a multi multi billionaire Alfred was tight and reused everything - it was he maintained how Bruce remained a multi multi billionaire - and then Dean dusted off his hands and took a mouthful of his still steaming hot chocolate. Ace who had been standing as a sort of foreman started barking and then pelted back to the mansion.

"Are you the boy who can see demons?" The woman asked.

Dean turned around to see her, she was stood at the gate of the private cemetary, her hair was rose red and her skin was slightly green, it was clear that it was because she wasn't wearing an awful lot of clothes and her feet were bare. She must be freezing, Dean thought. "Do you want some hot chocolate?" he asked, lifting the thermos, "it's really cold. "I can get Alfred to call someone for you."

"Are you the boy who can see demons?" the woman repeated.

"I am," Dean said quietly. "Aren't you cold."

"No, child," she said with a faint smile. "I don't feel the cold." She took a step back when he moved forward. "I don't want to hurt you," she said, "I'm being careful to be down wind. Am I a demon, child?" she asked. "I don't know any more."

"Ivy!" Batman growled. It was quite a feat because it came completely out of nowhere. He appeared like a shadow behind one of the trees. "Kid, go into the crypt and close the gate." Dean did as he was told because it really wasn't disobeying, he might get away with sassing Bruce but not the Batman.

"Batman!" She howled like she had been wounded. "I only want to talk to him. I just want to talk! He can answer me." Beside him Ace was growling and barking, almost whining to get to her. "My babies, they are screaming. I hear them, I can't think for them screaming. How can I think if they scream and scream and scream."

"We'll take you back to Arkham, Ivy," Batman said, "no one is hurting your babies, look, he's just planting a bush."

"I don't want to hurt him," she was whining. "I want to ask him, please. I just want to know, they're screaming, I hear them, over and over they're screaming, this town is haunted by bats, they hurt my babies, they scream and scream and he has the answers."

"Lady," Dean called out from behind the crypt's gate. "You're not, it's not you."

At that the woman smiled, her eyes seemed to flash for a moment before she looked at Batman. "Take me back," she said, "take me back to my cell in Arkham, and child," she turned to Dean, "tell your Alfred that coffee makes better compost, and cold tea will help the roses grow. I want to go back, take me back."

Dean watched as the Batman wrapped a blanket, one he had clearly stuffed under his cape, around the woman and led her away from the cemetary. He waited until they were gone before he opened the gate, Ace looking up at him with his ears down and his eyes huge. "Yes, you're a snitch," Dean told the dog. "Now are you going to help me plant this bush or not?"


	10. Can't judge a book (store owner) by it's cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes shopping with Bruce and Dick

Sam wanted a new book. Although there were hundreds of books in the manor none of them were really suitable for Sam according to Bruce, although he didn't mind if Dean read them, but Sam was too little, so if Dean wanted to spend his allowance on a book for Sam then Bruce was happy to go with him on his lunch break to get one. Dean didn't know why Bruce worked on a Saturday but he did, he had some important meeting with a man called Mr Dong, who couldn't be real, and so Alfred had taken him to Wayne Towers so he could go shopping with Bruce. Dick had scammed a ride and was getting some books for school or so he maintained. Dean didn't really believe him, but it didn't really matter.

Dick always made sure Dean held his hand when they were in Gotham, even in the giant mall, because apparently there were white slave traders everywhere and they'd love to have Dean and it was okay, even if they were with Bruce, but if Dick was holding on he could kick the slaver in the nuts. It had become a thing, when Dean left the house he made sure he had his silver bracelet, that opened up to a set of needles that he could use for stabbing, silver, iron and steel, and was engraved with protective symbols. In his back pack he had a flask of holy water and a packet of salt. That was just basic stuff, and he knew his exorcisms, but Dick held on just in case.

Dick was kinda hardcore, Dean wasn't supposed to know that Bruce was Batman and Dick was Robin but at the same time he'd have to be completely stupid not to notice, so Dean didn't really mind that Dick insisted on holding his hand.

"Do we have everything?" Bruce sounded pained, all of their packages, not that there were many, were being sent straight to the manor - there were advantages, Dean knew, to being Gotham's golden boy. Bruce hated shopping. It was made worse by the fact that Dean had bought Sam a teddy bear which was now being carried by Bruce in his arms.

"We can stop for something to eat." Dick said, "there is this amazing coffee shop here, they do these toasted sandwiches which I know Dean will love."

"I could do coffee." Dean agreed.

"You could do milk." Bruce corrected. Dean wasn't allowed coffee, he got a bit excited if he had too much, and he never seemed to stop at one. All hunters drank coffee and Dean didn't want to be the exception.

"Milky coffee." Dean offered.

"Chocolate milk." Bruce finished.

They walked into the coffee shop and as Bruce ordered Dean and Dick went to one of the more secluded tables to wait on him. Bruce didn't like them sitting in the open, if they were going to be followed by paparazzi he sure didn't want to make it easy for them. "Dick," Dean said quietly, almost under his breath, "that man's a demon." Dean rubbed at his eye, it had healed okay but sometimes it ached and sometimes he saw things he didn't necessarily want to see.

"Which one?" One advantage to Dick being Robin was he believed him.

"The one with the red hair, and the white stripe." Dick looked around for the man, who wore a brown tweed suit and a black roll neck, drinking tea and reading from a hardback book. "It's not right," normally when Dean saw a demon they were just twisted and wrong, but this man had a sort of overlay of what was clearly a demon.

"What are we talking about?" Bruce said taking the empty chair.

"Dean says that man is a demon." Dick said gesturing to the man with his head.

"Really?" Bruce asked.

"It's like a gargoyle with his teeth like this," Dean jutted out his jaw so his teeth came over his top lip. "And it's looking at me."

"That's Jason Blood." Bruce said quietly. "I'll keep an eye on him." Of course Bruce was a grown up and so didn't believe him.


	11. Looks like the Joker's on you

Dean sat on the metal chair in the middle of the floor of the fun house, which had been covered in graffiti, and tried to look like he wasn't using the tiny saw blade to cut through the ropes around his wrist. "I mean, mister," he told the green haired man, he was clearly the leader of this merry troupe, "your girlfriend's hot and all, but man, she's cuckoo for cocoa pops, if you catch my drift."

"You talk more than other hostages." One of the goons said from the side, as the green haired clown agreed. "You best shut up or the boss won't leave you alive for Batman to rescue you."

"I keep telling you," Dean said bluntly, "wrong kid, Batman's not gonna come for me. But it's a good thing you didn't get Sammy?"

"Why's that, kid?" The goon, who Dean thought might be Lefty, asked.

"Sammy doesn't like clowns, he finds them scary, but me, I like a good joke, what about you, mister, you wanna hear a good joke?" 

"I like this kid," the Joker said turning, "go on, kid, tell me a good joke? Then you'll see a real joke played on Bats."

"Okay," Dean grinned at him, a smile as fake as the Joker's own. "A man is walking along a country road when a he hears someone say psst, he looks around and there's no one there, psst, the voice goes again." Alfred told Dean this joke and Dean's kinda surprised that the freaky clown is listening, maybe Sammy's on to something about them being freaky. "Over here, goes the voice and all there is is this broken down nag, psst, the horse says. The man looks at him, and the horse goes, you might not believe me, but I won the Derby." The man nods and carries on down the path when he meets a farmer, you'll never believe this, the man tells the farmer, but there's a horse in that paddock that says he won the Derby. Liar, says the farmer," The Joker is listening, waiting on the punchline, "he only came second."

There is a long moment before the high pitched and somewhat hysterical laughter rings out. "You know what, kid, I could do with a side kick, a little joke to my Joker, a robin to my bats, you catch my drift. When we kill Bats you could stay here, and live on ice cream and cocoa pops."

That is the moment the golden ankh appears in the air followed by a golden chime and Dr Fate appears, "Hello Dean." 

"Hey doc," Dean answers calmly with a grin.

"You're not Batman!" The Joker protests, "I have all sorts of things planned for Batman and you're not Batman." It looks like the Joker is going to have a tantrum.

"I told you." Dean said. "I said you had the wrong kid."

"Come along, Dean," Dr Fate says offering the boy his hand, Dean lets go of the rope he had sawn through anyway, standing up. "It's been nice meeting you, Mister J," he says and then lets Dr Fate take him home.


End file.
